Dear Primus
by Kureiji-Kurai
Summary: An unlikely source comes to save Pharma after the fall of Delphi, but is his continued life worth this much? The Medic might just wish the D.J.D. let him die where he was. Then again, he's not even sure what is real and what isn't at this point. Maybe it has always been a bad dream?


**Dear Primus**

_The very worst kinds of nightmares are ones in which awakening cannot bring an end_

* * *

Now that the noise; keening, moaning, begging, and screaming had died down the only sounds in this room were the pulsing mechanical hums of the ship. Having a quiet enough moment to listen to the strangely soothing and steady rumble of the ship was quite rare an occasion. The _''Peaceful Tyranny''_ was generally anything and everything _but_ peaceful. If it was not a captured traitor to the Decepticon cause being... shown the error of their ways... before they ceased to have need of further lessons, it was Tersarus causing trouble in all his mindless glory. Of course, what member of the Decepticon Justice Division did anything 'peacefully' anyway? They were a specialized team of only five, but five mechs with both horrific and gruesome skills as well as sadistically rotten personalities. Having such tasteless and ruthless mechs on one ship might be a blessing were it not for the fact that they did not keep it to themselves, but hunted down unsuspecting Cybertronians to share their horrible hobbies with for as long as they lasted.

No, this ship was anything but peaceful, and a place most any Cybertronian only found in their darkest of nightmares - Worse was if they found it, and it was not a dream. This ship and its crew were the things monster legends were created from, but frighteningly enough, everyone knew these monsters were real. With every pitiful traitor or Autobot taken here, there was a new and more horrifying tail of torture and death. Absolutely no one wanted to end up as a guest in this place, because guests never had a good shelf life. The creaking metal and spinning engines were nearly haunted by all the tortured souls lost within the icy metal walls.  
There was a guest present on this ship though, more specifically, Tarn's guest. The unquestioned, cyclopean leader of this ship had deigned it possible to bring a guest, this once, which really meant the giant mass of metal had taken a prisoner. This prisoner, unlike most, was allowed to live, for now. The saucy, spunky, attitude rumbling prisoner, previously forced employee, was allowed to live. After the Autobot's indiscretion of working with the D.J.D was found out... in all his so called mercy, the leader plucked the doomed mech from the jaws of death.

So gracious, this leader! Not that this version of grace came without a price, like it always, always had. The disgraced Autobot and the Decepticon member always had a unique way of dealing with each other. They were neither friends, nor cooperating liaisons, nor lovers, and they never quite got along - Then again, how could anyone get along with a sadistic killer that only had a concept of using others for personal gain - Of course, after their deal, those terms had been put to both of them. The two 'bots were utterly different, yet strangely similar in some ways. Even the other D.J.D members could not get a full read on Tarn's attachment to Pharma, the ex-medic. It was hard to put any term to them. The closest seemed to be that of master and very hateful pet, though there were times it was hard to even tell which of the two was the _real _master when both were so skilled at dancing to the tune of the other.

Pharma smirked lazily at the hulking purple, black, and silver mech, stretching around his massive frame with a contented sigh, vent adorned shoulders puffing out air as well. Even in the darkened room as the jet laid on his side, orange, white, and blue colors were easy to spot, contrasted so harshly by the tank's. Tarn gave a little stretch of his own, back struts moving against padding, multiple treads shifting, situating himself on the large berth of his personal quarters. The airframe curled up, tucked between a mighty arm and equally imposing frame, having fully enjoyed every tantalizing second of their... game. A large servos moved to cup a much smaller hip as the medic's wings loosely seemed to hold that trunk of an arm. Outsiders might have mistaken them for an oddly matched set of lovers, though that was far from the case. All the same, the medic had grown to enjoy these times as much as he did not wish to admit it. The torturously prolonged pleasure, those delicious things that altered voice did to his spark, made the end result that much more intense for the wait, and Tarn loved to make him wait for it. There were times being a prisoner on this ship was not utterly and singularly terrible. He would never say so in a million eons, not to the tank before him nor any D.J.D member. Tarn, the leader of the group, was simply the least repulsive to deal with.

The D.J.D members were all Pit spawn - granted, one had been growing on him in a very twisted sort of way - still, he loathed the very ground they walked on. Of course, nights like these had him feeling conflicted on that issue, nights where his captor was so gentle. He hated them, he really did! Being a Medic in war times, he even knew why he felt conflicted, knew the tricks torture experts like them used to toy with the mind. He knew perfectly well what was happening and had even seen it before in victims of imprisonment. Knowing in his processor and feeling these things were different issues though. It gave him no end of grief that he used to consider the 'bots that fell for these tactics were only the weak minded. Oh, but they could not fool him totally, he still had his wits. Pharma detested what they stood for, what they did, and what they would do in the future. They were loathsome, vulgar, bloodthirsty, sanity lacking mechs. His electromagnetic field and his spark were not so easy to convince after an evening spent like this, but he knew he hated them. So why was he so content to sleep here beside such a monster?

His body involuntarily twitched at the thought. The little jet had rationalized it thousands of times, why, of all things, he could feel safe beside this killer. Again and again he rationalized it, telling himself why - This was the leader of the D.J.D, and literally the only one that had the power to protect him from the horrors this ship offered. On many an occasion, fleeing to this mech's side had been his salvation from Vos' experiment room or the resident "Sparkeater". Tarn had taken a liking to him since forcing him to work as his personal Medic, or rather, the supplier for his addiction at Delphi, so it was natural to fixate on the singular source of any manner of safety available. He was a prisoner, so his options were limited without hope of a rescue. Cozying up to this freak was his only chance at not meeting his end in multiple ways he did not care to consider.

Idly, the airframe traced a servo over the curves of the tank's side. Using his hands was something so natural that he tended to forget what a novelty it was to have fingers to do anything with. His spark sank defensively into his chamber to prevent Tarn from noticing the sudden rush of hurt, shame, confusion, and utter humiliation these hands reminded him of every time he saw them... these hands Tarn had given him off of a corpse. These hands were not his own at all, serving to remind him just how low he had sunk in this cruel life. A top respected doctor one day and a criminal maimed and left to die the next.

His inner workings began to knot, making him feel ill. It was disgraceful to have these attached to him, but what was he supposed to do, go the rest of his life without? Orange and white, medic stamped wings quivered against the arm they were between as their owner thought. No one would understand his acceptance of something so horrible, but they never understood anything. They never forgave him for what he had done but they did not understand! When had they ever faced down the D.J.D alone? He was not like Ratchet, he had never been in battles! What did they expect of him? Just a Medic, that was all he was, not a soldier! Primus knew they did not teach you the basics of staring down the leader of a mercenary group and saying 'no' to his 'requests' in medical school, now did they! He could not be like Ratchet! Why could no one understand that, understand his reasons for doing what he did? What did they want from him anyway, what did Ratchet want from him?

Yes, he did some terrible things, but he simply did the best he could. Why was it so hard to believe that he did it to _save_ lives? Why could they not see that he was fulfilling his oath the very best he could under the conditions? Would letting the Decepticon Justice Division swarm Delphi and murder everyone have really been better? There was absolutely no way to stop Tarn and his people from coming, no way but the way he had taken. A few lives versus his entire staff, every patient in Delphi, and even himself... it had seemed the only option. Yet, his hands were taken, and he was left for dead, no, left for **them **to find! He was on this ship because his dear, trusted mentor, left him to this wretched and hope void existence!

Pharma shuttered his optics, helm leaning into Tarn's side as if he could hide himself from those memories. Thinking it over, it was little wonder he had been clinging to the tank. Nothing else in his life gave him any comfort or pleasure, he had to get it where he could. For all this beasts flaws and dark qualities, he had saved his life, and he had given him these hands. The jet's air intakes hitched when he felt a set of large fingers trace little circles over his lower back in a seeming gesture of comforting. Denta plates ground together, blue optics narrowing. He knew, that slagging Pit spawn always knew! The leader always seemed to know what the medic was feeling and thinking no matter how close he held his electromagnetic field. Oh, he hated him for that!

Tarn's deep, darkest of dark chocolate, lilting voice made shivers of tickling pleasure curl around his already sensitive spark, "Pharma, you are always so tame and affectionate after you've been pampered a bit."

The Autobot Medic, or maybe ex by now, pulled away slightly, glaring through the darkness, "Tame? Hardly! Simply tired from dealing with your ridiculous forms of self-amusement at my expense." Maybe he had not picked up on his feelings after all, but either way, Pharma's mood had soured after his previous line of thinking - And he called this pampering, really?

Tarn simply purred, as if to say 'of course you are.'

The jet's blue optics drilled the other as he sat up and slapped the hand away, "And who would intentionally show you, a disgusting pit monster, affection?" His mouth was running away with him, but he did not notice as the anger charged words tumbled free, "Who would hold affection for a rusting bag of bolts anyway? You're stupid if you think I hold you in any manner of endearment! I hate-"

"You should be a little careful where you let that mouth of yours take you." The words were full of stinging charge that hit their target all too well.

Still, Pharma ignored it, instead grabbing at a tender, poorly healed, spot he knew was behind that huge knee joint, "You're one to talk! If I still had my weapons-"

Before he knew what had happened, Tarn was straddling him, enormous left hand wrapped around his small throat, while the other had both his arms pinned over his head - The tank's many pieces of armor made little metallic sounds as they settled into the new position suddenly. The wing joints at the Autobot's back protested the sudden weight and unnatural bend being applied, his own armor not sure where to move. Blue optics wide, all Pharma could do was stare up at those angry red orbs behind that purple Decepticon symbol of a mask. Suddenly those eyes reminded him of death, cold, burning, unforgiving, and abysmal. Yes, he had seen that look before more than once, but it reminded him most of that first fateful time encountering this beast. He went too far, let his anger at not only Tarn's comment, but other emotions oozed out of him. He actually attacked Tarn, weak as it was, it was still foolish. The indignation and rage was rolling off the mountainous mech in waves, his field nearly crackled with the sting of it, like spikes aimed right for the medic.

"_Pharma_, my dear, Pharma..." Each crooning mention of the others name was a threatening caress of his delicate spark, "Lately, your continued boldness has been grating on me. Do I need to begin teaching you respect... again?" Every word was a tightening grip around the spark until the last word turned to a growling lash.

Pharma's body made a few barely controlled jerking motions beneath the far larger frame as the pain hit him in waves, "I'm sorry! I know, I don't know what I was thinking! I didn't mean it..." He needed to pull out all the stops before this turned ugly for him, "Forgive me, Master, please!"

The flyer watched with growing trepidation as the tank seemed to grow more irate, electromagnetic field swelling with fury as it crawled into every piece of the medic's body and up his circuitry. His frame trembled at the full on invasion, spark quivering helplessly in its chamber, pushing back as far as it could go in an attempt to hide. There was no hiding from Tarn, and he knew that, but that did not stop his spark from nearly folding in on itself in anticipation of the continued pain it knew was coming.

It was strange though, that tactic had worked before, so it should have worked again. Granted, Tarn scolded him for calling him 'master', putting up a weak argument that only 'Lord Megatron' should be called that. Oh, but he loved every second of Pharma rationalizing why he could call him by that name. The tank loved seeing his medic verbally bowing to him and _admitting_ to being under him, being owned by him. Tarn loved listening to Pharma call him his master, and list off reasons it was true. It was the ultimate in lowering himself for the leader. Not this time, though, it seemed.

"Oh, I suppose you were hoping that would get you out of trouble, hmm?" His slow spoken words left Pharma gasping for cooling air after the multiple cutting lashes produced by the dips and rises of his voice, "But do you really expect me to forgive you with only a few inveigling words? Do you think I am am so easy? You presume quite a lot recently, and I have been letting it_ sliiiide_." The very last word was drawn out so long it was agony.

Nudging himself past the burning in his chest, the jet leaned up as best he could, helm tipping forward to nuzzle into the crook of the Decepticon't neck, wordlessly seeking to be forgiven. His glossa slipped out from behind his denta to lick at the dark neck cables affectionately. He yelped when he was jerked back hard against the berth, padding cover not nearly enough to keep his metal from rattling from the force. He twisted pathetically as the tank moved to tuck his chin painfully into Pharma's own neck cables.

"There you go, presuming again. You are a natural, charming, alluring, prevaricator... You call me 'master' to my face, fake shows of affection, and proposition yourself to me every time you get into trouble... but do you really think that earns you my forgiveness?" The sound of his voice alone told the medic he was grinning behind that mask, which was not commonly a good sign.

"I-I do not-" Pharma tried to protest the insulting terms, tried to deny them, but the servo squeeze to his neck silenced him.

"I have been far, _far_ too lenient with you. I spoil you, and it is beginning to show."

The flyer whimpered pitiful attempts at words as he shivered and twitched under every lowering tone spoken into his audio.

"You are not even afraid of me anymore, are you, Pharma? You think you can talk and flatter your way out of trouble." Thick fingers traced into seams gently as he spoke, shifting his voice with every word.

"Primus, Tarn!" The airframe rasped, vocalizer riddled with static, "I _am_ afraid of you, everyone is! Everyone!" He was being more than a little honest, but terrified would have been closer.

"Mmm... but it's not enough, is it? You think I have gone soft, don't you, Pharma?" Tarn's voice was frighteningly even, not dipping higher or lower to inflict any suffering, which meant he was gearing up to do something.

The orange and white helm shook from side to side frantically, "Tarn, Tarn, no! I-I would never presume - I know better!" The sadistic mech was starting to enjoy himself, but that only made the bubbling fear worse.

"You call me your 'master' to soothe my exasperation with you. However, you snarl to Tesarus about belonging to no one, being _above_ all this, the morning after? How quickly you forget, my Pharma..." The whispered, possessive name sent a ribbon of pleasure through the smaller body, making him writhe into the mech above him as he road it out- But, of course, they both knew the pleasure was just something to throw off the pain temporarily, to make the return that much worse. "Mmmm... but I will make you remember, Pharma. I think this will be the last lesson you ever need."

"I'm s-sorry!" Pharma was pleading now, desperately struggling against the biting fear, systems over exerted by the conflicting signals, "Please, don't be angry!" His hands twisted against the massive grip in a vain attempt to free them, white pointed ridges above his blue optics veering up as panic rose.

So it was more than this bad act that brought out this reaction, it had been building slowly over time. He had no idea Tarn heard any of those things. His wings vibrated against the berth uncontrollably as he stared into Tarn's intimidating faceplate. After all this time, he knew the Decepticon well enough to understand horrors awaited him. The implications began eating away at his cortex, alarm following. He knew perfectly well that he gave more than his share of attitude, but it was his only defense, the only way he could hide how frightened he was at every given moment. Those tough, arrogant words were all he could do to stay together and maintain a facade of control in this place.

They all tried to take away his control, but he refused to let go of it. His reputation, lifestyle, home, comfort-zones, rights, and even his pride had been stripped from him. What else did he have to use against them? Oh, but now he wished he had been smarter about his words. He should have known Tarn would hear him one time or another, should have known not to demean the leader to the others! Tarn had a temper the Aubotbot was very well acquainted with, and had been since before he lost Delphi. To a decent degree, he had gotten to where he could read the tank's moods and react in ways that would cause him the least suffering. He could tell by the feel of that threatening field just how angry he was going to be and this punishment was going to be bad! Worse still was what he just said; one sentence placing the medic in the future, but the other indicating he had no future at all. Oh, Primus, he was going to die this time! His much smaller frame began to shake more violently as the realization swarmed his processor. Barely coherent please for mercy accompanied by urgent apologies began to stream from his derma in waves, voice trembling as much as he was.

A finger lifted from its place at delicate throat cables to press against the surgeon's lips in an obvious sign for silence, "You know," Tarn's tone was so even, so horrifically, painlessly even, "I know a great deal about airframes... how sensitive their wings are..." That drew an undeniable whine of fearful anticipation from the mech pinned beneath him, "how to please them... or put them in agony. Yes, I know more about your kind than most any grounder you could find."

For all this time, he had liked to think of himself as brave. After all, he took a job heading a clinic in the D.J.D's own territory, something no one else would do - it was something he regretted now, but it had taken courage to do. Now though, as he analyze the shaking mess on this berth, bravery was long dead. Now, he begged past all his pride for just a little less pain. Pharma was no stranger to Tarn's temper nor the punishment for evoking said tempter, but the tank had a system; Pharma would make him angry and then he would swiftly punish him in horribly creative ways... but after that, it was over. That comment to Tesarus had been weeks ago, which meant this particular anger had been building at least that long. The D.J.D leader was good at using time as a torture, but if he used time that way he always ensure the one to be the recipient _knew_ it was coming. In this case, he never said a word, nothing to keep his little jet on the edge of anticipating dread. That meant he had planned to forgive the indiscretion, but could not quite let it go.

"I might know as much about your frame as you do, my pet." As if to demonstrate, he let go of the much smaller hands to trace a long line to the pelvis, skillfully dipping his finger into the jet's hip joint, moving to flick at a hidden node - That instantly brought the small body to arch into the touch, optics dimming as pleasure swam through him - What would have been a seductive moan turned to a cry of misery as the node in question was crushed.

The flyer began to shove and slap desperately, though in vain, at the large hand as the finger moved to another node, afflicted body desperate to avoid a replay, "Stop!"

"Do not give me orders." The node was played with much longer this time, long enough to ebb the fear into bliss, but the moment the jet began to doubt the pain would come, it did.

Huge fingers retracted to smear little bits of energon along the airframe's chestplate, over the Autobot symbol. There was a bit of humming as those servos traced patterns in the energon, but nothing painful yet. To the best of his ability, the surgeon curled in on himself, trying to prevent his hips from invasion, and arms moving to defend his chest. The worst of all this was, he knew perfectly well nothing, no defensive position in the universe, could keep that voice away from him. That was what frightened him most about this Decepticon, there was literally no way to defend himself. His spark was an open target no matter how much he ran or evaded. With the others, at least he could dodge, and if he could outrun them, he had a mild chance of avoiding pain for a while. That did not apply to Tarn, he could reach you anywhere you moved, and rip you apart without even touching you. No matter where you ran, as long as you could still hear that voice, he could cut your spark to ribbons. As strong and massive as he was, that could never compare to that weaponized voice of his.

"I know all about those secret compartments only seekers and airframes have. Mmm... yes, I know more than you think about your _delicate _body." Every word was a swaying pitch of threats, but threats that were finally starting to make sense in the frightened mech. "I'm starting to realize that you need a far more lasting punishment, something that will remind you every day about what happens when you forget your place. Maybe after I finish with you, you won't forget so easily." Those hands began to travel with purpose.

Blue optics flared with realization and Pharma shook his head, twisting away, "No!" His tone turned as demanding and authoritative as he could manage, "Don't, don't even think about it!"

As the medic began to thrash, Tarn clamped his knees together to nearly crush those blue thighs, purple servos shoving him down at the shoulders. Wide fingers dug painfully into both vents, forcing themselves in between slats so hard to metal had to shift to avoid being bent. Hysteria was swiftly moving in to settle over the doctor now that he registered his true situation. Those pointed words and traveling fingers brought him to a horrible realization, one he never expected even this sadist to use on him. He tried desperately to hold himself together but he knew he was failing, knew his field was a shivering mess of utter fear and dread. Of all the things he had been forced to endure, he always thought this would not be one of them somehow. There were so few outside his own frame build that even knew enough about airframes to worry. After all the dissections and torture Tarn had done, he should have known it would be in his range of knowledge.

The thick coaxial cable from Tarn's main abdominal hatch slid free as the cover slid away. Clawing at those thick arms did no good, but he could not help it, his fighting options vastly limited. Air type frames had quite a few things ground bound types did not. As a medic, he had seen this particular issue occur, stupid 'bots never realizing what they were doing after a few too many shots of high grade, and it was never a pretty picture. He knew Tarn intended to connect them, but this connection was never intended to be used in such a way, not ever, and not by anyone this different in size. Airframes had a connector and cable that was to be used strictly for information exchange. Fliers tended to group, so they just shared everything with what often became a trine. This connection was intended for that purpose alone, to create a connection from one flier to the other. It did not work and was not built the way other connections were. Using it incorrectly caused massive damage to the airframe.

"Get away from me!" A voice he hardly even knew as his own hissed out like dust.

This connection was linked directly to the processor, the the spark, to everything an airframe was. It was sacred in his world, not even spoken about to grounders. It was like sparing one mind when a correct connection was made, it was not made for these purposes. Even the connection itself was grounded deeper than any other connector, not on the surface, but protectively hidden deep in the metal. One was located in the mid to lower back, hidden where a humans ribs would nearly meet the spine, and that would be the one the tank would seek. Tarn's bayonet neill-connector was theoretically able to merge with it, were it smaller, but the medic knew it was not really compatible, not grounder was. The pain on every possible level from a forced connection was unthinkable. Even if a union did not cause massive metal fracture, the connection it held to his systems would bring enough damage to drive him mad.

Icy cold, sadistic enjoyment pumped into Pharma's field, squashing every shred of courage, hope, or dignity he had managed to scrape together. Control had always been something he prided himself in. He could walk into any operating room and never flinch in any crisis. No matter the situation, he could control his emotions, work the situation, and come out on top. Oh, but this was different, so very different! Tarn was different! No matter how afraid he was of the D.J.D members, he could always keep his famous sharp tone and glossa - He could stare them down without flinching. Oh, but not with Tarn. He could fake fearlessness with snide comments, feign flippancy, aloof behavior, but if he looked into those red optics or heard that voice... he was finished.

"Tell me you want it!" The burning hot, deep snarl of words had the medic instantly wild with agony.

The whimpers could not be stopped as he writhed from the awful, spark shredding pain. Being forced to say it made this so much worse, turning the blame onto himself as if all this was his own doing. He did not want it, he did not want it at all! The thought of Tarn going near that equipment both horrified and terrified him, almost as much as this pain did. As much as he was hurting now, how much worse could it really get? If he did not comply, he would die, and he knew it. He had been forced to watch them kill before and he did not want to die that way.

Pharma did not want it, yet he found the words tumbling out of him in desperate, gasping sobs, "Yes, I want it!"

The tone did not change, still a fiery cut to his spark, "Beg me for it! Convince me."

"I'm begging you!" That was the best the flier had, his glossa hopeless, derma hardly able to gather enough functionality to move, "Please, please, please!" He was reduced to one poorly formed word, begging more for an end to the torment than anything else in the world.

Satisfied, the massive monster drew away, sitting back on his great heels before plucking the other out from under him. As Tarn's huge hand cupped his back, lifting his smaller body of the berth effortlessly, spreading pale thighs around his dark middle in the same motion, red optics leveled with frightened blue ones. Pharma's legs instinctively clamped around his thick waist, not out of desire, but simply to gain the slightest bit of stability and control he could find. The airframe stared into those piercing, ominous optics as he sat forcibly posed on the others lap, pressed tightly against that broad chest. His spark fluttered in terror as Tarn's free hand slipped around him, tugging that thick black cord with it. Those crimson, dark centered eyes seemed to probe deep within him to violate him even farther, drinking in his fear like high grade. A pained whine edged past gritted denta as he felt thick fingers pry open the hatch and felt the tip of the over sized connector being forced in.

Frozen in place, his joints all locked with unreleased tension, leaving no choice but to stare straight ahead - He wanted so desperately to move, but he could not seem to even manage a twitch. He could not move, he could not move at all! Why was he not fighting, why? The metal end of that cord burrowed deeper and deeper, scraping harshly as it did so. Pharma could feel the surrounding metal at the opening stretching at first, then splitting with a sudden agony edged crack from the lack of ability to adapt that quickly or that much._ Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop! _Those were the only words his processor could bring up. His optics widened as every wire in his body constricted at the horrible burning sensation. He could feel every tiny scratch as it was made, the jagged split in his metal deepening, he could feel it all. Hot air pored out of all his vents as his body worked to cool down systems not really made for this much stress at one time. Tarn's plug-in forced its way deeper until it finally reached his jack. The medic took air in long gasps as his processor tried to understand what was happening, what this sudden invasion was. It hurt, hurt so much he wanted to yell and curse or even beg but could not gather himself enough to unlock his jaw. The tank might have taken his lack of motion as stubbornness or resolve, but it had nothing to do with that, he simply could _not_ react. He could not take this, he just could not endure it! This, this was too much! It hurt on so wickedly many levels he could not even comprehend it at once.

Something in him snapped - Maybe his processor finally kicked into a fight-or-flight reaction, or maybe what snapped was his rationality. The air frame came to a thrashing life when he felt the first touch of his deep seated jack to the tank's cable connector, thrashing in utter and irrational desperation to escape. He hardly even realized he screamed, too overwhelmed by the system wracking anguish to notice anything at all beyond it. The ship could have been crumbling and he never would have known it, every circuit of his processor flooded with the signal of torment. Warnings were flashing over his HUD so fast he could not even read them had he wanted to, piling up rapidly on top of the others. Tarn was forced to pause the assault, gripping the other with both arms just to control his near convulsions. A low growl directed to his spark intended as a warning did nothing more than intensify the fliers struggling. He wanted out, _needed_ out of here, and that was the only thing resounding in his overtaxed mind. He could feel the sporadic small shocks of the touching, but not completed, connection.

Pharma shrieked as Tarn regained control and rammed the connection home with a horrid snap of sound that would have told him something broke even if he could not feel it. Oh, but he could feel it! He felt it so very much! Words of nonsense pleading gushed from him between uncontrolled screams. His body continued to struggle even though his mind could no longer hope to connect with actions. Burning, surging, raw agony filled him as Tarn's energy forced its way into his body - That power was not even connected correctly, so it traveled haphazardly through him to fry circuits he never even knew he possessed. Reason was out the door with his processors nearly unable to work enough systems to keep him alive. Had he been aware, he would have noticed the way his spark rotated between surging with charge to nearly ceasing - That is, until Tarn began to talk him back. At some point, his body went limp in those arms, helm lolling to the side as if his spinal strut were broken. Primus had some mercy to spare him, it seemed, because his mind went into stasis, unable to endure.

* * *

The medics body lurched on the hard surface, air wheezing in his vents as he came online. It did not really occur to him that it was difficult to move. His optics flashed to life as his head rolled over the cold table. He could hear someone else moving, but he had no idea who it could be. His processor worked swiftly, his last thoughts conflicting with the familiar sight of hospital walls, equipment and background sounds. His dazed mind allowed him body to relax with a thump as he came to the realization that he must be in his own Hospital. It must have been a long shift. It was far from uncommon for him to recharge in his office, or occasionally the common room. As drained as he felt, he must have been spent previously, just deciding to drop onto one of the medical tables.

His blue optics went offline again as he shifted, noting how stiff he seemed to be. Long shifts did that to a body. Getting up right now was off his list of options. Recharge was what he needed. Someone would just have to cover for him till he felt functional.

Someone called him name and he groaned in protest, "Just... let me rest... a little longer. I'll go back on shift in a bit, just let me rest a little more."

"Easy, just relax." That sounded like... Ambulon, maybe. "Just relax, everything is fine." He sounded so soothing, like he was talking to a patient rather than his superior.

Pharma felt like he must have spent days without recharge. It must have been a long, horrible shift. It was little wonder he would have night-terrors about Tarn after a hard day. Considering all the stress he had going on with that 'deal' they started up a while ago and the stress of making sure no one caught him... how could he expect to sleep well. Those types of dreams were to be expected. Thank goodness that was all it was!

* * *

**AN:Yes, this is very much an M rated fic. Anything with Tarn normally is.  
**

**UA (universe alteration)not really AU (Alternate Universe) as of now. Mostly just twisting events a little but we'll see. I'm writing this largely because it is a crime how little love I've seen on Tarn. Yes, he's fricking evil, but he's too cool for me to hate! The two of them together just fascinate me too! Both characters are twisted and hate worthy... I mean, we all know about Pharma and his box! But, I think Pharma had reasons for becoming so screwed up and I just ended up with this because of that thought. Not sure when I'll update next but hopefully soon!  
**


End file.
